Best of Women

Lin

I gave Eva some space, knowing she was upset. When one twin was truly upset, the other was usually good about helping the other. I knocked on their door about 45 minutes after Pippa had left and found the girls curled up on Eva's bed. Eva looked calmer now. I walked over and gave a gentle smile.

"Mia, can you go to the living room for a minute so I can talk with your sister?" I asked gently. She nodded and walked out as I sat on the bed.

"I saw your scratches," I told her, tilting my head so I could look at her straight in the face. "Does that make you feel better?"

She nodded. "I don't know why, but it does," she said quietly.

"We need to find some better ways of helping you deal with your frustration," I said. "Pippa said you've done this before."

She nodded, not looking at me. I could tell she was embarrassed. I know teenage girls probably preferred talking to their mothers about embarrassing things. Alas, that was not an option. I was grateful she had PIppa.

"How about talking to someone?" I suggested.

"Like a therapist?"

I nodded. I'd sent all the kids to therapy after their mother died. I think it had helped greatly, but Eva wasn't a big fan. She'd been angry after her mother passed.

"I don't want to talk to a therapist," she told me. I sighed, rubbing her arm.

"I know you didn't like it much, but it definitely helped," I said. "I think it would be a good idea."

"I'll stop scratching," she told me.

"Can you?" I asked. "I think it's hard to just stop that sort of thing."

"I can do it," she told me. I studied her for a moment, trying to gauge her ability to do so. She was a stubborn kid, that was for sure. If she put her mind to something, she could usually do it.

"Okay. Let's see how it goes," I decided. "If you keep scratching, though, I'm sending you to a therapist again. Deal?"

"Deal," she said. I leaned down and kissed her forehead.

"Get some sleep," I told her, then left the room. Mia was sprawled out on the couch, channel surfing. I got some wine and sighed, then sat down with her.

"How do you think your sister's doing?" I asked her. Mia probably knew her better than anyone.

She shrugged. "She's still really bummed about her injury," she told me. "She's been really sad at school."

"Did you know she scratches herself?"

Mia nodded. "She doesn't do it often," she told me. "It's not that bad."

"Well, I still don't like it," I told her. "She needs to stop."

Mia laid her head in my lap and I gently stroked her hair. After her mother had died, she was the one that withdrew the most. I couldn't get her to talk or smile. She spent days in her room and didn't want to be with her friends. It had taken her a long time to snap out of it.

Amidst my own sorrow, I never went to therapy. As a grown man, I figured I needed to work it out on my own. I had the tools necessary to do so. Looking back, I should have gone. I was a mess for a good year afterwards. I hadn't been there for the kids when they needed me and I was surely depressed. Still, I had made it, even if I did it the hard way.

The next day, I was working from home when I got a call from the kids' school. I wondered which of the four this was about. I immediately picked up.